


you just leave it all up to me (we could have a good time)

by wolfwithwoodenteeth



Series: 31 Days of Jonsa [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cersei is Joffrey's older sister, F/M, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related, Teens, a slightly awkward ball of fluff, mention of Sansa/Joffrey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-23 23:19:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13798458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwithwoodenteeth/pseuds/wolfwithwoodenteeth
Summary: Sansa is upset... Jon decides to go and figure out why...Written for Day 1 of 31 Days of Jonsa - First KissTitle from 'Kiss' by Prince





	you just leave it all up to me (we could have a good time)

Jon flinched as the front door slammed shut with a loud bang. As he turned he could just spy a flurry of dark red and baby blue making for the stairs up to the bedrooms.

He focused on the screen in front of him again, noticing Arya had taken advantage of his momentary distraction to gain another lap on him.

"What do you think happened?" he found himself murmuring.

He saw Arya rolling her eyes from the corner of his. She made an indifferent I-dunno sound and gripped the controller more tightly.

Jon didn't mean to say the words out loud, but he did anyway. "She seemed really upset."

"Ugh, she probably broke a nail or something. Or maybe Cersei told her her skirt was ugly, or, or that she was wearing the wrong colour lip gloss or whatever. I don't care."

She did. Even if she couldn't relate to her sister making a fuss over clothes or make-up (and to be perfectly honest, neither could he: Sansa looked perfect to him, no matter what she was wearing), she did care if her sister was truly distraught.

She rammed her car into the side of his, almost making him swerve off the road. "Maybe you should go and check up on her?" he suggested tentatively.

"Maybe I should walk into a snake pit wearing a blindfold?" she bit back. "I'm  _so_ not dealing with her when she's in one of her moods."

Jon hummed non-committantly. She was probably right. Arya's attempts would most likely only make things worse. The Stark sisters didn't exactly have a good track record when it came to well-meant interferences on either sister's part leading to misunderstandings which usually resulted in the Stark residence turning into the backdrop for World War III.

"Why don't you go and check up on her?" Arya suddenly piped up.

"What- me?" Jon squeaked, his car crashing into a road divider.

Arya arched an eyebrow, a lethal smirk starting to pull at her lips.

"We hardly ever talk. I don't- I don't believe she'll want to see me if she's upset," he replied, perfectly composed, despite the flush he could feel creeping up his neck and ears.

"Why not? You seem to care so awfully much. Maybe she'll appreciate it," she added with a wink.

"I have no idea idea what you're talking about," he retorted in mock-indignance, hoping it was enough to fool her.

"Go on then. This is your chance to be her knight in lumberjack flannels!" she chortled.

Jon glanced down at his shirt, offended at the implied slight. It looked perfectly fine to him, and it was warm and comfortable. He decided he was not in the mood for more of Arya's needling, so he might as well head upstairs and see if Sansa was okay. After all, that was the polite and friendly thing to do, right?

He reached the top of the stairs to find the door to her bedroom swung wide open, her backpack thrown at the foot of the bed. Her room was an alien, mysterious blend of soft pastels, sweet smells and boy band posters, but there was no sign of Sansa.

He was about to walk away, when his eyes fell on the lock of the ensuite bathroom she shared with Arya. He crossed the room, his footsteps muffled by the fluffy pink carpet, and softly knocked on the door.

"Just a minute!" Sansa called out, her voice oddly strangled.

"It's okay. It's me - Jon," he added, almost knocking himself over the head for his incoherent mumbling. "I just wanted, err, I."  _Yeah, what did you want, huh?_

The door clicked open and suddenly he was looking at Sansa's tear-stricken face.  _Oh gods, she's crying. What do I say? What do I do?_

"Jon?" she asked, biting her plump pink bottom lip as a crease appeared between her eyebrows. She turned around, folding herself onto the floor cross-legged, leaning against the side of the bath tub. "Close the door, please?"

He followed her request and quietly joined her on the floor, letting his back rest against the bath tub as well. He should probably say something, but he had no idea what that should be.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I probably look awful."

"No, you look great," he answered too cheerfully, Sansa narrowing her eyes at him in response.

"I mean, you don't look great... Not that you look bad," he insisted, holding his palms up. "You never do, but - yeah, I can -  I can see that you're um," he stopped there, deciding he should probably shut up.

But Sansa offered him a bright smile. "Thank you, Jon. I appreciate it."

"What- What happened?" he tried again.

She shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters to you," he pointed out.

She shook her head. "You'll just think I'm silly."

Emboldened by the knowledge that she cared what he thought about her, he reached out and took her hand. "No, I won't."

She pulled her knees up, resting her cheek against them and whispered: "Joffrey tried to kiss me, but I freaked out and ran."

"Oh." It was a weak response and a poor reflection of the boiling rage he felt at the mental image of that smug prick Joffrey Baratheon trying to kiss Sansa and the enormous relief that he hadn't succeeded. 

Sansa used her free hand to cover her face and peeked at him through her fingers. "What if he tells everyone what happened, Jon?"

His grip on her hand tightened. "If he does that, he's a complete ass."  _Which he already is regardless,_ he added mentally, wise enough not to share that evaluation with Sansa.

"I feel so stupid," she muttered.

"You're not stupid," he reassured her. "So you weren't ready to be kissed, big deal."

She blinked. "The thing is... I was," she confessed, biting her lip again. "I am."

"You lost me there..."

"I  _am_ ready to be kissed, Jon," she clarified, lifting her head from her knees, bright blue eyes gazing into his. "I just realized Joffrey was not the right person."

He gulped, trying to pull his suddenly sweaty palm from her hand, but she held on tightly, not letting him go. "Then who do you think  _is_ the right person?" he breathed.

She didn't answer and just started to lean in until she was close enough for him to see her wet eyelashes sticking together, the mascara stains under her eyes and her slightly smudged pink lip gloss. He realized he'd stopped breathing.

He licked his lips, heart hammering loud enough in his chest for her to hear, and she closed the gap between them, slanting her mouth over his.

Her lips were soft, sweet and slightly sticky with a hint of saltiness from her tears, and her kiss was gentle and tentative. He could feel her starting to retreat, so he squeezed the hand he was still holding, pulling her back in. He moved his own lips along with hers, hoping to encourage her, even though he had no idea what he was doing.

Within moments he became light-headed. Sansa Stark was kissing him, and his stomach felt like he was soaring high above the clouds. Suddenly, her tongue was prodding at the seam of his lips, and when he opened his mouth, their teeth clashed together in clumsy eagerness.

She giggled, but lost no time trying again. The feel of her tongue sliding against his was novel and a bit odd, but not unpleasant. She tasted of something sweet and tangy, probably the lemon cakes she adored. His head was truly spinning now, and he couldn't tell whether it was because of her kiss, or because he'd actually forgotten to breathe.

They parted and she offered him a shy smile. "This is not exactly how I imagined it happening," she whispered hoarsely.

He grinned back at her, his heart skipping a beat at the knowledge that she'd imagined kissing him.

She shook her head. "I'm a mess-"

"It was perfect," he rasped, cutting her off. "You're perfect," he added, cupping her cheek to dive back in for their second kiss.


End file.
